Let the Children Come

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Matthew 19:13-22

October 7, 2012 (World Communion Sunday) • Portage First UMC

Today is World Communion Sunday, and all around the world, this day, the body of Christ unites around the table to share in the bread and in the cup. As many ways as we can imagine for communion to be done, there are probably even more variations taking place on this day. Kneeling, standing, chanting, singing, coming forward or being served in pews, chairs, or on the ground—in wide variety and in many locations, today, we celebrate holy communion as one body. And yet, not quite as one body, because we not only have many different practices, we also have many different beliefs about this holy meal. One of the things I appreciate about the Methodist tradition is our practice of the open table, and one of the reasons I appreciate and love that is because I can never remember a time I wasn’t welcome at the table. As a kid, growing up at the Rossville United Methodist Church, I always knew I was welcome to come and kneel at the communion rail along with my parents. I would be served bread and juice right along with the adults. Not all traditions practice that. Some traditions say you have to be a member, or you have to be a certain age, or have been baptized a particular way. The bread and the cup, which should bring Christians together around the world and across denominations, continues to divide us, separate us, as we act as if we are the ones who decide whether or not someone can come to the table or not.

Now, Jesus never directly addresses the question of who can come and who can’t. When he gives the gift of communion to his disciples, and to the church, he never says, “At this age or with this action, you qualify for communion.” Nor does Paul. Paul does say that “whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord. Everyone ought to examine themselves before they eat of the bread and drink from the cup. For those who eat and drink without discerning the body of Christ eat and drink judgment on themselves” (1 Corinthians 11:27-29). But Paul is not talking about a certain type of person. In that passage, he’s trying to correct the Corinthians, some of whom are getting drunk off the wine that was part of the Lord’s Supper. He challenges them to make sure they are coming to the table with a right heart, that they are coming to the table to receive and experience Jesus rather than to get drunk or to be noticed. So who is welcome? Who can come to the table?

We begin to get a glimpse of an answer to that question when we look at the way Jesus interacted with people. Jesus very typically welcomed and talked to those whom society looked down upon. He sat with the woman at the well (John 4), which was a shocking thing to do. Jewish men did not speak to women other than their wives. Jesus welcomed a tax collector named Zacchaeus, and even went to eat at his house (Luke 19). Tax collectors were even more despised then than they are now, because they were seen as collaborators with Rome and traitors to their own people. Jesus touched a dead body, which would make him religiously unclean. But Jesus raised the boy to life and gave his mother back her only son (Luke 7). Jesus dined with lepers (also unclean) and prostitutes (Matthew 26; Mark 14). He touched demon-possessed people. He argued with Jews and Gentiles alike. He even spoke to religious officials. And he welcomed a zealot (a violent revolutionary) into his band of disciples. Jesus hung out with and welcomed all sorts of folks at his table. But there is perhaps nothing more telling than the story we read this morning, the story of the time when Jesus blessed the little children.

Matthew tells it this way: “People [probably mothers] brought little children [the word means infant or toddler] to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them” (19:13). The blessing of children by the laying on of hands had a long history in Israel. Often, this was done by a father passing on a blessing to his children—one generation “handing on the torch” (so to speak) to the next (Wilkins, NIV Application Commentary: Matthew, pg. 646). But with Jesus, there’s something else going on here. These mothers had probably seen or at least heard about what Jesus’ hands could do. Jesus’ hands would touch people who had a disease and the sickness would go away. Jesus’ hands would touch blind eyes and suddenly the people could see again. Jesus’ hands would touch those who were demon possessed and their minds would become peaceful again. If you saw and heard about such things happening, wouldn’t you want those hands touching and blessing your children as well (cf. Barclay, The Gospel of Matthew, Volume 2, pg. 211)? They weren’t bringing the children to Jesus because they thought he was the Messiah or the Savior of the world. They were bringing the children to Jesus because they knew he would welcome them.

However, just because Jesus would welcome them doesn’t mean his bodyguards would. I mean his disciples, who are acting like bodyguards in this passage. They’re not trying to be mean here, although it is true that, in that first century culture, children had a pretty low position in society (Wilkins 646). Their one desire, I believe, is to protect Jesus (Barclay 212). Jesus is tired. Jesus is preoccupied. Ever since the Transfiguration, back in chapter 17, he’s been moving rapidly and talking a lot about his death. He’s been healing and teaching and there’s been little time to rest. But all that talk about a cross must have worried them (cf. Barclay 212). You don’t talk about a cross with a smile on your face. Jesus is burdened; he knows what’s coming, and so the disciples are just trying to make space for their master. Everyone wants to see Jesus, but these kids—well, they don’t need to bother him. And so the disciples try to send the children away.

But the problem is they’ve got their priorities mixed up (Wright, Matthew for Everyone, Part Two, pg. 46). What they don’t realize is the children are anything but a bother to Jesus. This short little scene tells us a lot about the savior. He had to have been a fun person to be around, a happy person, a caring person, because otherwise, children would have stayed away. He was, it is said, the kind of person children loved to be around, and author George MacDonald turned that around and said one time that “no one could be a follower of Jesus if the children were afraid to play at his door” (Barclay 212). But, more than that, what we see here is that Jesus was never too tired and never too busy for anyone. Whoever needed him received everything he had to give, from the children to the sick, from the elderly to the wealthy. Philip Gulley once said Jesus never went out of his way to help someone, because someone needing help was never an interruption to Jesus. It might have been a change in the agenda, but it was never “out of his way.” Despite the disciples’ objections, Jesus welcomed the little children, blessed them, and even used them as an example for discipleship. He put it this way: “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (19:14). What did he mean by that?

Remember, children were not valued all that much in Jesus’ day. It was the wealthy, the powerful, the influential whom people noticed. In fact, in the very next story as Matthew tells it, Jesus meets one of those folks. We call him the “rich young ruler,” though that’s a combination of characteristics from three Gospels. Mark tells us simply he is a man (Mark 10:17). Luke tells us he is a ruler (Luke 18:18). And Matthew tells us he is young, probably between twenty and forty years old. Most likely, he is some kind of religious lay leader, possibly a Pharisee, because those folks were usually well-off financially. And he had to have been well-known. There weren’t that many rich people in Jesus’ day or in the area he lived (Wright 48). So he comes to Jesus and he asks what he must do, what action he must perform, to gain eternal life. There’s a lot of stuff going on here we don’t have time to get into today, but Jesus answers him by repeating back five of the ten commandments. Every good Jew would have known those ten commandments, and it’s interesting, isn’t it, that the five Jesus recites all come from the second half of the ten. They’re all commandments that have to do with the way we treat each other (Barclay 214): don’t murder, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie, and honor your parents. But “all these I have kept,” he says, and yet there’s still something lacking. Something within tells him that simply obeying the letter of the law is not enough. There’s still an emptiness inside. That emptiness is there because the ruler is worshipping something other than God. He’s trying to earn his way into God’s good graces by doing “good things,” but he’s not worshipping God. His life is not centered around God. It’s centered around this other thing. And Jesus knows that, which is why he cuts, then, to the heart of the matter. “If you want to be perfect,” Jesus says, “go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me” (19:21).

Now, let me say that Jesus is not issuing a prescription for all people in all time here. He’s giving one man a direction, but the larger principle in play here is that whatever gets in the way of our complete devotion to God needs to be removed. That’s what we need to get rid of. For this man, and maybe for some of us, it’s our great wealth. Certainly, in our country, we’ve become so wealthy, we’ve forgotten what it’s like to depend on God. You see, the question the man asks is, “What do I lack?” What do I need to be complete? And Jesus says if you want to be complete (which is probably a better way to translate “perfect”), get rid of that thing you depend on so much and place your whole life in God’s hands. “In order to be complete, you must be empty” (Wright 50).

The next sentence in this story, to me, is one of the saddest in all of Scripture: “When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth” (19:22). He couldn’t give up what he worshipped, and he would continue to live with that hole in his soul, that lack, until he becomes like a child—completely dependent on his heavenly Father.

I think that’s part of why Matthew puts these two stories together—it’s that contrast. The young man had everything the world had to offer and yet he had nothing. The children, who were looked down upon and had nothing of their own, who had to depend on someone else (their parents) for their food and livelihood, had everything. Children are weak and vulnerable. They have no power. They have no influence—at least as the world understands that. We know they have influence with their parents! But they have nothing to offer anyone—no advantage, no financial gain (if anything, it’s just the opposite). There was no reason Jesus should have preferred them over the rich young man. I mean, think about it. When we see the big-name preachers in photos, who do we see them with most often? Wealthy people, influential people, powerful people. We don’t see them with children, and yet that’s who Jesus preferred, because to him, children are the perfect metaphor for discipleship. In fact, just a chapter earlier, in the midst of yet another argument by the disciples about who is the greatest, Jesus called to himself a child (some think it might have been Peter’s daughter), and he told them, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me” (18:1-5). And that, then, ought to cause us to ask: how do we become “like a child”?

Now, we’re talking about childlikeness, not childishness. There are plenty of childish adults around today. What we need are people who live childlike, which means we’re open to new and unpredictable things (cf. Wright 45). We’re open to trust and believe and hope and play. As we grow up, it’s far too easy to become bitter and angry and cynical and hardened. Life has a way of doing that to us. The things we go through, the losses we face, the unfairness of so many things, the way we are treated by others—all of those things pile up and begin to harden our soul. Throw into that a generous mixture of all the things that call for our worship, our attention—money, sex, power, influence…we could on and on. We get caught up in daily life, in planning and preparing and handling all the endless details that we forget how much a gift life is, and how it’s meant to be enjoyed. Watch a child and see how they live in the ever-present “now.” It’s those sort of qualities and more, undoubtedly, that causes Jesus, in this passage, to declare that children are closer to God than anyone else standing nearby. Children are more receptive to Jesus’ blessing than any of the adults standing there. William Barclay once said, “It is life’s tragedy that, as we grow older, we so often grow further from God rather than nearer to him” (212). And yet, Jesus says the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these children. And he calls us to have a childlike faith, a childlike heart.

When I became a dad, I quickly realized I could learn more about having a relationship with God by watching the way my children reacted and interacted and lived life than I could by reading any book. For instance, I’ve learned many times over the years that children are painfully honest—and God wants us to be honest with him as well. Didn’t we read that in the psalms several weeks ago? I’ve also learned that little children don’t tend to hold onto grudges. They don’t nurse hurts for months and years on end. I always thought children should come with some sort of owner’s manual, because I distinctly remember bringing Christopher home from the hospital and thinking to myself, “Now what?” And so we’ve made mistakes along the way, and yet when our kids were young, they didn’t get up every morning and yell at us for the mistakes we made yesterday. No, today was a new day, and those things were in the past. Having a childlike heart involves forgiveness and allowing God to take care of the hurt. I’ll be very honest: that’s a hard one for me; it’s one I have to work on constantly.

Another thing I learned about childlikeness is that children play until they are exhausted. How many times would you come into your child’s room at night and they’ve just collapsed on the floor, maybe clutching the last toy they played with (when they were supposed to be in bed)? Or how many times do children protest going to bed because they’re not tired and you know they are? Children invest everything they have in what they are doing. Adults tend to invest only what we think we have to, the bare minimum, and we think we get away from serving God at a certain age, or when we’ve “done our time.” Perhaps part of being childlike is giving everything we have, all of our energy, to serving God in whatever way we can. One of the saints I knew at my last church, Pauline Huffman, was 99 years old when she died, and one time when I talked to Pauline, she told me she was upset she couldn’t do as much as she used to for God and for the church. She felt useless. So I told her what we really needed was someone to pray for us, for the church, for the people in the area. Could she do that? Yes, she said, she thought she could, and Pauline gave her all to that ministry, as far as I know up to the point of her death. We play until we’re exhausted and invest ourselves fully in every experience.

Another thing I noticed is that little children aren’t generally afraid to try new things. That’s how they learn—even when when they might get hurt. Touch the stove, you learn it’s hot. Put that thing in your mouth, you’ll learn pretty quickly whether it’s good to eat or not. They’re not afraid to try new things, but as adults, we make all sorts of excuses about why we can’t do this or that. I can’t deliver a pie to a newcomer; I might say the wrong thing. I can’t greet guests; they might be someone who has come for a long time and I just don’t know them. I can’t go to Bible study; I don’t know enough yet. (I’ve actually heard that, and it’s amazing how we don’t realize the self-contradiction there.) I can’t share my faith, I can’t give a tithe, I can’t serve on a committee. But have you tried? You know the best way to find what your gifts are? Try something. If it doesn’t work, if it doesn’t fit, try something else. Childlike faith moves ahead and isn’t afraid to try new things.

And most of all, childlike faith trusts. Cathy hated it when I would toss the kids in the air or when we would play like that, but neither Christopher nor Rachel ever complained. They trusted that their father would catch them, and I did. But at some point in our life, we all move to Missouri—you know, the “show me” state. Prove it to me, God. I can’t trust you to work in this way because I have to have all the evidence first. Or I have to be in control. Children don’t wait—they naturally trust. These kids that played at Jesus’ feet trusted him. And I know trust is in short supply these days—too many people and too many institutions have failed us. But we’re wrong if we judge God by human standards. It ought to be the other way around—the human standards are judged by God, who is absolutely and utterly trustworthy. So—can you come to Jesus as child? Can you trust him?

Because that’s all it takes to come to the table of the Lord. It’s not up to Deb or I to determine who can come and who can’t. All that’s required is to come to the table with the heart of a child. The invitation is simply this: “Christ our Lord invites to his table all who love him, who earnestly repent of their sin and seek to live in peace with one another.” You hear me say it often: in the United Methodist tradition, the table is open to all who love Christ or who want to love him. Jesus put it this way: “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (19:14). So come as a child this morning, and find in this bread and this cup a reminder of your heavenly father’s great love.